Profession
by CacoPhoniA
Summary: BB looks back on the reason that he hates L.


Beyond Birthday liked his name.

He liked his outward appearance.

He liked his occupation.

He laughed, laying on the blood-splattered bed with a bounce. He could just imagine someone asking:

"_What's your profession, sir?"_

"_Serial Killer."_

"_I see. How nice."_

And indeed it was.

Mere people could never understand the feeling of a kill. The sound of a knife dragging across damp skin, and the beautiful liquid that followed the incision.

Crimson blood that would cover floors and walls like paint on a canvas that he always loved looking at.

Fear outlining victim's eyes in such a gorgeous way.

Yes… no one could understand the feeling of it.

But… even with the satisfaction it brought to him, it never seemed to satiate the hunger to kill that ONE person. The one he had watched for years, and knew the location of at this very moment.

L. Lawliet.

He laughed. Oh, what he would give just to see the look on L's face had he killed him when he should have.

Fear maybe? Shock? Sadness?

The last one would have been the best, in his opinion. Or maybe pain.

Yes. Pain would have been the best.

Red-hot anger surged through the serial-killer's veins.

No matter what anyone thought, he _hated_ the detective.

Many thought it was because he wanted to be like the detective that he dressed like him and adopted his mannerisms. But no, they were terribly wrong.

He had hoped for a reaction, but not one of praise.

As a nine-year old he had hoped recognition.

At eleven he had hoped for anger.

At fourteen he had hoped for something beyond that, but he couldn't quite place the word.

And now, all he wanted was the detective dead.

Reasons?

Ah, he had many but… one stuck out the most in the assortment.

He had killed A.

Of course, everyone knew that he committed suicide, but in B's mind L was the culprit of everything that had happened to A.

Many wondered what had caused A to cave and kill himself.

B knew. He knew everything, but never told anyone.

Pressure was a big part of the ordeal. Think. If you were being raised to be a copy of someone, to take over their place, no matter what you wanted, what would you do?

B had always known that they were just clones in this game Watari had accidentally created. However, it never bothered him as much as it bothered A.

He remembered A coming into his room at night, eyes red from crying, bags apparent under his eyes. B had always asked what was wrong, and A always said the same thing:

"_I wasn't born. I was created."_

At first it didn't make sense. All people are created, then born. It was life.

But then reality kicked in.

_People _are born.

_Things _are created.

Another reason of A's plight was his condition.

He had been diagnosed with depression since he was five, and had mild schizophrenia to boot. God knows that could kill you alone.

Last note.

One day, B and A were in an office with L, and Watari was discussing the system that they would go through once A became the next L. He had used A's real name, to which L stopped him.

" _Don't say their names. They'll be so unused they won't exist anymore."_

B:

Don't say I'm over-sensitive. He was talking about our names. I know what you're thinking.

"_It's just a name why would that do anything?"_

Why? It was the only thing we had left of our old lives.

Plus, I could see his name, so I would never forget.

The next day I got up and walked into the bathroom, and there he was.

Hung from the high shower pole, blood cascading down his pale wrists.

His eyes were half-lidded, a tear forming on the corner of one.

I didn't scream or cry.

In fact, I let him sit there for about an hour before I informed Watari of this.

I guess that's when (as therapists put it) my insanity began.

The death of the only one I called a friend.

At the funeral L apologized.

"_I'm sorry. I know how close you two were."_

B just looked up at him and smiled.

"_You killed him, you know."_

L hadn't replied. He just stared at the red-eyed boy and then walked away.

Yes, Beyond Birthday loved his profession.

But he supposed it didn't matter.

Because it would never matter until he caught the one he had started this "job" for.

L. Lawliet.

**A/N: Well, I understand that this was an odd one. But… I wanted to write something about BB. I understand that it was weird with different perspectives. R&R please.**


End file.
